What's Left of Us
by imjce
Summary: Maura assumes control of Doyle's empire as his heir. In the unforgiving world of crime, she must find a way not only to survive, but to strive. Jane Rizzoli is equally unrelenting in her pursuit of justice. When faced with uncertainty, will Jane be able to choose between love & loyalty? Will Maura accept her fate or attempt to alter her destiny? In the end, what will be left of us?
1. Prologue: The Beginning

**Prologue: The Beginning**

The pillows were on the floor, long legs entangled between the sheets, the natural moonlight shone into the room, the brightness emanating from the street lights below mixed with the moonlight gave the room a dark, eerie glow. The alarm clock had been set. The alarm had been set prior to bed, it wasn't set to ring for another five or so hours, but her cell phone had beaten her alarm clock to it; it's ringtone blaringly loud. Her bed might be a mess, and things askew and scattered all over the floor, but she knew exactly where her cell phone was. Without much difficulty, or the need to open her eyes for that matter, Jane grabbed her cell phone off her bed stand and answered out of habit after so many years of doing so.

"Rizzoli."

"Jane." Korsak's voice came through on the other end. "We have another one."

"Oh come on!" Jane turned and looked over at her alarm clock. The time read: 2:29am. "Where?"

"The docks. It's the third one this month. You and I both know this is just the beginning. I'm willing to bet my entire 401K that there be another one by the end of the week."

A deep throat chuckle escaped Jane's lips. "That's a bet I'm not willing to take. Give me twenty minutes. I'll be there soon."

"Get your boots, Jane. You're going to need them. It's going to be a long night."

"Thanks, Korsak."

Jane ended the call and gently tossed her cell phone down on the bed. Korsak was right. This was just the beginning. The month of March had only started eight days ago, and they already have three bodies. A turf war. Between the Irish and the Italians. The Italian mafia have a stronghold on Boston's racketeering, money laundering, and loan sharking market, but the Irish mob were getting bold, and overstepping where they didn't belong. It wasn't entirely Paddy Doyle's fault. Her daughter, taking after her father and his business, was eager to prove herself of worth to the world, to the disbelievers, to those that dared question her. Jane could not wait to put a face on the cold hearted bitch. A woman as ferocious, coldhearted, unforgiving, and unrelenting as her is a rarity in the world of organized crime. A woman hidden in the shadows of the underworld, not only did they not have a picture, they didn't even have her name. As if having no identifiable name or picture wasn't bad enough, they didn't have any trace evidence either. In laymen's term: they had jack-squat on the CHB, cold hearted bitch.

Such cases of homicide would usually fall under the Organized Crime Unit, but it didn't. Many of the casualties and victims weren't mobsters or gang members, they're regular civilians, like Mary from the grocery store, or Ben that works as a teller at your neighborhood bank. They weren't gang bangers. They were regular folks that just so happens to be related to a member of the Irish mob, or the Italian mafia, and they were the collateral damage. Two bodies are lying in the morgue, and one was waiting to be retrieved. All because of what? Money? Power? Fame? Was that really worth three, innocent lives? Apparently so. There's no end in sight. The Italians will only continue to resist and retaliate, while the Irish continue to advance and strike fear into the hearts of Bostonians.

Jane stripped off her boxer shorts and raggedy t-shirt, and pulled on her usual pair of dress pants and a button down shirt. She made sure to grab her cell phone off the bed, and her blazer from the pile of clothes she had in the corner. Early spring night air in Boston chilled her to the bone.

- o -

The underground parking lot was empty, it's main gate shut after 9pm. Below ground surface, with concrete walls and pillars about, plenty of blind spots in the lot, it was perfection. The underground parking lot was filthy dirty. The odor, the stains, the markings, it was littered throughout, and that only served to sweeten the deal. Whatever trace evidence they leave behind will now be rendered useless. It was a public lot. No exclusivity, no probable cause. There were five cars parked in a circle. Three SUVs, and two sedans. The five cars had formed a circle around one man. The man was on his knees, his hands tied behind his back with a zip lock. It didn't matter how much he pleaded, or how hard he sobbed, it wasn't going to change the fact that he wasn't walking out of here alive. Cooperate or not, he was going to die. But he had options, he did have a choice. If he chooses to cooperate, she'll let him die painlessly. If he chooses to resist, and be a dim-witted dick, she was going to have him die a slow and painful death. Whatever his choice be, it wouldn't alter his outcome, but it'll alter the process.

"Please..." He begged for the umpteenth time. "I told you everything I know."

"No, you haven't, that's the point."

"Look, I'm just the fucking middle man, I don't know the details. I have a seller, and he has products to ship, I simply broker a deal and pair the seller up with a buyer. That's it, man. I only get 10% of the deal. I don't earn much. Please, you have to believe me."

"First off, I'm not a man." She walked right up to him, up close and personal. Her three inch Gucci Snakeskin heels clinked against the concrete floor as she closed their distance. "And secondly, you're lying."

"No!" He shook his head feverishly. "I'm telling you everything I know."

"See, right there, you just did it again. Whenever you lie, your left supraorbital brow ridge raises ever so slightly. It's obvious. Very obvious because you have very symmetrical facial features."

"Huh?!"

"Sticks out like a store thumb."

She kicks him in the chest with her heels, sending him tumbling backwards onto his back, crushing his hands. She brings her right foot up and presses her three inch heels into his groin, placing particular emphasize on his testicles. More than 96% of a man's pain receptor when he gets hit in the groin comes from the testicles, not the penis itself.

"Last chance."

"I already told...-"

"Wrong answer." She drives her heels down an inch, piercing through the denim of his jeans.

"Look, I...-"

"Wrong again." She drives her heels down another inch.

He howlers in pain, gasping desperately for breaths as he cries out loud.

If she pressed down one or so more inch, the sharp blade-like heels were going to pierce his testicles.

"OKAY! OKAY! GIOVANNI!" He blurted out.

She eased her foot by just a bit as encouragement for him to continue. "Go on."

"Michael Vikram. He's the buyer. Some Russian guy looking to broker a deal, and re-sell it at a marked up price. Seller's Lou Giovanni. The shipment is arriving from Peru. And it'll be coming in sometime this week. I don't know when, I'm telling the truth. But it'll be easy to spot. Lou was saying something about coffee beans. I think that's the cover they're going to use to get the shipment through USBP."

She observed him for a while. She released her foot off his testicle. "Good. See. That wasn't so hard now was it?"

"No. But the Giovannis' going to kill me!"

"That's where you're wrong. You're awfully optimistic." She tsked. "They can't kill you if we kill you first. Rationality. Makes sense, yes?"

"But...but I told you everything..."

"Stand him up." She said coldly.

One of the man holstered his gun, and pulled the weeping man to his feet.

"Go ahead. Give me two hundred jumping jacks."

"Huh?!" He said again.

"If you stop, I'll shoot you between the eyes."

"Wha...-"

"And...go!"

Without thinking or a moment's hesitation, he began doing the jumping jacks. Without the use of his hands, he was only able to move his feet. He worked out every now and then, he was familiar with how to do jumping jacks, burpees, mountain climbers, but he didn't expect to be doing them now, and under such circumstances.

Two minute and twenty nine seconds. It had taken him two minutes and twenty nine seconds to do all two hundred jumping jacks. By the end of the two hundred, a thin veil of sweat was present on his forehead, his breath caught slightly in his throat.

"Do you know why I made you do jumping jacks?" She asked.

He shook his head.

"A healthy resting heart rate is between 60-80 beats per minute, with a BP of 120/80. You look like you work out. So it would be an educated guess to say your resting heart rate is 64bpm, give or take. At 64bpm, and the coolness of the parking lot at about 21.5°C, if I cut your carotid artery, with your height and body weight, it'll take you ten minutes or more to bleed out and die. But by making you do jumping jacks, and increasing your resting heart rate well above 130bpm, when I slice your carotid artery open, your heart will continue to pump due to your oxygen deficiency from the jumping jacks, and you'll bleed out in less than a minute. Quite a significant difference. Isn't physiology and cardiology absolutely fascinating?"

"What? Please...-"

She took the scalpel that was handed to her, and slashed it across the man's throat. Her incision was precise, and deadly, from the years of medical training as a medical pathologist. Who says getting an education doesn't pay off?

Blood gushed from his wound like a geyser. Like she predicted, it took him exactly fifty six seconds to bleed out, less than a minute.

"Let's get out of here." She said.

"Nervous?" He asked.

She handed him the scalpel. "Not in the least."

"Don't lie to me, Maura. I can tell when you get nervous."

"I'm not nervous. I'm agitated. There's a difference."

He scoffed. "Distinction without a difference."

"Just drive."

- o -

**My forte is crime fiction. Can you tell? This story is to satisfy all you readers out there that want to sink your teeth into a story that's filled with corruption, crime, drugs, and steamy sex. There's going to be a lot of Rizzle sex, cause damn it, I want them to! It fits perfectly into the flow of the story, so I'm not going out of my way to make them do it. Anyhoo~**

**Alternate Universe: Have you ever wondered what if? **


	2. CH 1 - Introductions

**CH 1: Introductions**

The autopsy room was vast and grand compared to some other departments within BPD. Not only was the room itself spacious, it held the latest, and most up-to-date pieces of forensic equipment money could buy. With budget cuts affecting all of BPD, the only department that was spared the cruelty of having financial restraints was the department's morgue. But it didn't matter how fancy the equipments were, or how technologically advanced they were, they have to be utilized by the right people, with the right pair of hands to be able to fulfill its functionality and maximum its potential. The word is talent. Unfortunately, it didn't matter how much money BPD funded to its mortuary department, it couldn't buy talent. The current Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts is a talentless, egoistical, misogynist ass-face. That's right. Not just a regular asinine. An ass-faced asinine. The man was a complete and utter failure as a medical pathologist, and a worse human being at that. But until a better candidate applies for the position, or the homicide unit files enough complaints with the BPD to get the man fired, Dr. Pike was the best they got, like it or not.

Jane took several deep breaths to control her breathing, thereby lowering her heart rate and with it, her blood pressure. Every time she talked to Pike the Tyke, he would push all the right buttons, and next thing she knew, her face would fluster, and her anger would boil over. At the tender age of thirty two, if she had a stroke while on the job, it would be Pike the Tyke's doing; her blood would be on his hands. Sending Korsak and Frost in would be worse for wear. Korsak would probably stab Pike in the eye with a syringe, and Frost would undoubtingly put the man in a choke hold. Not giving herself a chance to back out, Jane charged head on, and pushed open the double doors that led way to the autopsy room.

Pike didn't have the common curtsey to even acknowledge Jane's presence till Jane took the initiative in doing so first.

"Dr. Pike."

"Hello, detective." He said in that same monotonous voice.

"Have you completed the victim's autopsy report yet?"

"Is it on your desk?" Pike asked.

"No…"

"Then it isn't done yet, detective. Please do not waste my time with such idiotic questions."

Jane closed her eyes and took several deep, cleansing breaths. "Okay. Do you have cause of death yet?"

"Victim does not appear to have any visible wounds or trauma, so COD is still inconclusive."

"Oh common Pike! The body's been there all morning, you're telling me you can't even speculate what the cause of death might be?!" Jane could start to feel herself losing it.

"Speculate?" Pike had finally turned around to face Jane as he spoke. "I did not get my M.D specializing in medical pathology and pathogens by speculating. As the Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, I cannot speculate. It is not in my capacity to speculate, assume or presume. Such foolishness. How did you ever pass your detective's exam in the first place is a wonder."

"You're right." Jane said calmly.

That was a definite first, coming from Jane Rizzoli of all people. "I am?"

"Yes. I wasted all my time taking that darn detective's exam, when I should have applied and taken your God damn fucking job! Doesn't seem hard, you do it! And you're a complete ass-face!" Jane had finally exploded. Everything that was pent up came spewing out her mouth. She's been working relentlessly, clocking in over-time, with no sleep in sight tonight either. Jane was not in the mood to mess around. "You're a nit, Pike, you hear me? A nit! The victim was found floating in the docks, check the God damn fucking lungs for traces of water particules! That would tell us definitively if he died of drowning, or had died and was then tossed into the dock. Have you done that, Pike? Have you?!"

Pike's mouth was agape, his glasses sliding off the bridge of his nose. "No…" He said almost childishly.

"So what the fuck have you been doing all this God damn, live long day? Please, enlighten me."

"It appears that there's a larva retrieved from the patient wound."

Jane inhaled and exhaled an audible breath. "I thought you said he didn't have any visible wounds or trauma?"

"Ah, you see, that's the interesting thing. The wound is post mortem, so it's not relevant to the victim's COD. The larva was found in his hair. I've been trying to determine if it's class Monogenea or Trematoda. The two are quite similar and are not easily distinguishable to the untrained eye."

"Will the larva help us establish time of death?"

"No."

"Will it be able to help us narrow the location of the first crime scene?"

"No."

There it is. The increase in heart rate, Jane could feel her blood pressure shoot through the roof. "Okay. So what's your fascination with the larva then?"

"I have to catalog every single piece of trace evidence I recover, detective. And I cannot do so until I've identified what kind of species and class of larva this is."

"Baby Jesus, is this cruel…" Jane mumbled underneath her breath. "You can always have a technician do that for you for you. You're main job…-"

"I don't need you to tell me what my job description is, detective, I'm quite aware what my job entails."

That was it. No more. Ding-ding. Tag team. Korsak or Frost was going to have to deal with Pike, cause her patience has been utterly depleted by the man's incompetence. Jane hoped it was Korsak's turn to bat. Jane crossed her fingers. That syringe in Pike's eye would be a dream come true.

"Detective?"

Jane turned at the sound of her name. "Susie."

"I have the latest toxic screen report on your victim." Susie handed Jane the file.

"Have I told you how much I love you, Susie?"

"Senior criminalist Chang, as Chief M.E, should I not get a copy of the report first?"

"The original copy is on your desk. The one I gave to Detective Rizzoli is a photocopy."

"Photocopy." Jane said childishly as she waved it at Pike.

That seemed to have shut Pike up.

Jane quickly skimmed through the report. Everything seemed normal except one portion on the graph that was highlighted red. "What's this, Susie?"

"Benzodiazepine. Also called Benzo. We found traces of it in the victim's blood; 0.8mg/mL to be exact. It's a powerful psychoactive drug that's used to enhance the body's neurotransmitter GABA. Most commonly used as a sedative or as a muscle relaxant. Other uses include recreational abuse."

"This drug Benzo, it's regulated, yes?"

"Definitely. It's a class A narcotic. Licensed physicians and pharmacists keep strict categorization and inventory of the drug."

"Our victim worked at a clinic. He might have gotten it there, five finger discount style." Jane bit her thumb nail, the gears churning in her head. "Thanks Susie. And Dr. Pike, please, the autopsy report…-"

"Plebs." Pike's rude tone of voice said it all.

"Excuse me?" Jane's temper flaring to the surface once more. "Did you just say something Dr. Pike?"

"Plebs. It means 'common folk' in Latin." Susie explained.

"Well folk you too, Pike!" Jane pushed the door open with her booty. "Not you Susie, you're the best."

- o -

The dial tone rang once before the call was immediately picked up.

"9-1-1 dispatch, what is your emergency?"

The man coughed into the receiver.

"Hello, is anybody there?"

"I am." He cleared his throat once more. "Have a nasty flu, my chest's congested."

"What is your emergency, Sir?"

"I have a present for you."

"Is this a joke, Sir? Because misuse and abuse of…-"

"I'm not kidding. Geez. Awfully pessimistic of you. Listen, and listen carefully. A shipment is coming in direct from Peru, shipment container PR #0933, via the Black Falcon Cruise Terminal, South Boston. The container should be marked and labeled export: coffee beans."

"What is your name, Sir?"

"My name is Cocaine. And I'm overweight. I weigh approximately six tonnes, and have an estimated street worth of $600 million. But I'm planning on joining Weight Watchers soon. I think it's just water weight."

"Please stay on the line."

"So serious…not even a chuckle." He kissed his teeth into the receiver. "I've said what I wanted to say. The gift has been delivered; all that's left is for you to open it. Have yourself a wonderful day now."

And with that, the call ended as abruptly as it began.

- o -

"Oh come on Frost, the thing's not your personalized toy. I want to use it too!"

"You have to take the full seminar before being licensed." Barry handed Korsak a binder. "And you have to read the instruction manual too."

"That's bullshit. How hard can it be?"

"Ho hey ho! You guys want to stop fighting like a bunch of second graders and help me solve the case?"

"Sorry." Barry said.

Korsak quietly trudged back to his desk.

"Can you pull up our vic's file."

"Yep, got it right here." Barry pulled up the file. "Christopher Mullins. Twenty eight. No criminal records."

"His prints are in the system. Where are they from?"

"Juvy. Records were expunged when he turned eighteen. Shouldn't be anything serious though, the judge presiding only imposed a hundred hours community service."

"Any connections to known criminal affiliates? The Irish mob?" Jane asked.

"Nope. Nothing. Only child. Parents in retirement, currently residing in Essex. Most of the extended family is in Canada and England."

"Any connections that indicate our first and second victim knew Christopher Mullins?"

"Doesn't seem like it." Korsak said. "Our first and second victim had clear ties to gang affiliates. Mario Martinez, brother of Lugus Martinez, a middle man peddler for the mob. And our second vic, Elmy Boyle, brother of Elson Boyle, currently serving five years for drug trafficking."

"That's what's bugging me too. The first two victims' gang affiliations were so cut and dry, but this guy doesn't seem to…to fit. Is it just me? Or do you guys see it too?"

"Maybe he saw something he wasn't supposed to? Maybe wrong place, wrong time? Maybe it's not even gang related. It's a legit homicide case." Barry suggested.

"Maybe." There was something off about the Mullins case, she just couldn't say what. "Korsak, you hear back from BIO yet?"

"No. Nothing. And people aren't talking."

"You can't rush this, Jane. The CHB is Paddy Doyle's only daughter and heir to his multi-million, maybe even billion dollar empire, it's only logical he'll want to protect his daughter's identity. The less people that know her true identity, the safer she'll be. It's going to take time."

Jane hopped off the desk. "It's frustrating. I can't even put a face to the woman that's been wrecking havoc on Boston, and my sleep schedule."

"Alone in bed by 12? Not much of a social life, detective." Barry said jokingly.

"Thanks." Jane replied sarcastically.

"Look, Doyle's clan is going to try to keep the CHB's identity under wraps for as long as they can. Allows her the freedom to elude our surveillance, and it lowers the Italians guards. It's a win-win situation for Doyle's clan. You can't protect yourself against an enemy you can't see; it's got the Italians on the edge of their seats, and jumping at their own shadows. If you ask me, it's pretty brilliant. They're going to guard her identity like the Thutmosid family guarding the tomb of King Tut."

Both Jane and Frost threw Korsak a questioning glance at his unusual choice of reference. "Hey, I watch a little Discovery channel now and then."

"Susie found traces of Benzo in Mullins' system. Frost, can you pull up his social security, I want the address of the clinic he worked at."

"Printing now." Barry hit Crtl + P. And clicked enter.

Cavanaugh came running into BRIC, catching the entire team off guard. "Guys, DCU needs backup! There's a huge shipment docking to port, and the Commissioners wants all available hands on deck. If this is credible at all, this will be the biggest coke bust in Boston history. We need people to man stations and road blocks."

"I'll go."

"Anything to help, Sean."

"Great. Frost, Korsak, let's move. Jane, you man Homicide. I already have Frankie on deck, one Rizzoli's enough." Cavanaugh turned and hurried off with Korsak and Frost following close.

What just happened? A tornado just came swooping in cause Jane has no clue what's going on. In less time than it takes to get a cup of coffee at the café, BRIC was empty, and the Homicide unit was near empty, except a few officers manning their respective station at their desk.

Jane checked the time. It read: 4:19pm. There was still time. Why let it go to waste? Jane ran back into BRIC and grabbed the print out from earlier. The biggest cocaine bust in the history of Boston, and she wasn't going to be a part of it. The least she could do was make good use of her time.

- o -

"Another big breath. Inhale."

She inhaled.

"And exhale slowly."

She exhaled.

Maura took her stethoscope off, and pocketed it into her lab coat.

"Have a seat, Marley."

"Thanks Dr. Isles." Marley pulled her shirt back down.

Maura pulled her doctor's pad out and began scribbling down a prescription. "You have early signs and symptoms of the influenza. You have mild chest congestions, and a bit of a fever, so I'm going to prescribe you an anti-viral medication. These are Laninamivir, take them three times a day after a each meal, for one week. I cannot stress this enough, Marley, but you have to finish the entire course. You're going to start feeling better in the first two, three days, but do not stop taking them, continue the regime. If you stop your regime, and the symptoms reappear, the anti-viral medications may not be as effective due to drug resistance. Do I have your word you'll finish everything I write off, Marley?"

"Yes Dr. Isles. I'm not a child anymore." The woman named Marley whined. "I'm a grown woman that has a child of her own."

"Bearing children and birthing an offspring has no bearings on a person's level of maturity. The youngest mother to bear and give birth to a child was just nine years old. Just because you give birth does not equate to you not being a child, metaphorically of course in your case."

"You keep getting weirder and weirder every time I see you, Dr. Isles. You have got to get out more."

"I get out aplenty. My vitamin D intake levels are 25mgs a day, all via natural sunlight. Plus, I garden during the weekends, and attend as many public health seminars as I can. The Boston Health Public Commission hosts these fascinating bi-weekly seminars…-"

"Not in the literal sense, I mean, expanding your social network."

"Oh." Maura opened and closed her mouth before responding. "Well, a lot of academics and health care professional attend these seminars, so I do mingle."

"No offense Dr. Isles, but I'm going to pass. It doesn't sound like my cup of tea."

"Too bad." Maura handed the prescription she wrote up. "It'll be your loss. Their upcoming seminar next week is about dietary prevention of allergic diseases in infants and small children; it's quite intriguing, I can't wait."

"Thanks Dr. Isles. Have fun." Marley said halfheartedly.

Maura watched with a goofy smile on her face as Marley upped and left. She checked the time on her watch, 4:57pm. Three more minutes.

There was a knock on her door, and Samantha popped her head in. "Dr. Isles, your brother's on line three. And I have a detective here that wants to speak with you."

"A detective? Did she say regarding what?"

"No." Samantha didn't ask. "Would you like me to ask?"

"That's okay Sam, please send her in. You can lock up and go, I'll clean up."

"You sure, Dr. Isles?"

"Have a lovely evening, Sam." Maura smiled sweetly.

"Thanks."

Her door closed. Maura picked up the call waiting on line three.

"Dr. Isles speaking."

"Doctor, my chest aches, my nose is stuffy, and my throat hurts, I think I'm dying..."

"The chances of you dying from herpes genitalis or chlamydia trachomatis is far greater than that of you dying from the influenza A strain, by at least 40% based on your promiscuous sexual behaviors."

"Ooo, Dr. Isles, is that your pathetic attempt to talk dirty?" The man mocked.

"What do you want, Finn? I told you not to call the clinic unless it's an absolute must."

"Relax, Dr. Isles. I'm using a burner phone, it's untraceable. Besides, if anybody asks, I'm a recovering crack addict with a heart of golden. This is a medical network for the underprivileged, nobody will notice." Finn's voice deepened, no longer light hearted as he spoke. "I've called in the tip. The entire Boston police department is swarming all over the place."

"Good. Let them do their job so we can do ours." Maura began playing with her pen. "There's a detective here at MEND. I don't know what for, but it might have something to do with Chris' death."

"Do you want me to come down there?"

"No." Maura replied sharply. "There's no point. I'm going to assess the situation first. Hang back, and wait for my instructions."

Another knock on her door.

"Come in." Maura had her hand covering the receiver. "I have to go, Finn."

Without another word, Finn hung up.

When Samantha had initially said detective, Maura half expected to see a man, mid thirties to forties, with a big and budging gut for a stomach. More than 73% of the Boston police department are composed of men, one of the smallest percentile in the country that employs female law enforcement officers for active duties. This was a pleasant surprise, and a breath of fresh air.

The detective was tall, with a few inch added on thanks to her boots. She had a luscious head of dark hair that ran down both sides of her shoulders, and her features were sharp and eye catching. Those deep, sharp dimples; it's every plastic surgeon's dream come true. Maura stood up from her seat and accepted the hand offered to her.

Jane too assessed the lovely doctor. Though of average height, she was by no means average. A head of lovely blonde hair, high nose, and soft dimples on both her cheeks, it complemented her light green eyes beautifully.

"Detective Jane Rizzoli."

"Dr. Maura Isles."

The moment their hands touched, an immediate connection was made.

- o -

**A/N: Alright guys, chapter one officially begins. I stress it's A/U, but I try my best to keep it authentic. Different lives that now intertwine. You can expect Rizzle, prostitues, gunshots, car bombs, Rambo style explosions, Jane walking off into the sunset as a house burns and explodes from afar.**

**I find I have a similar sense of humor as Jane, so I'm going to try to keep that as authentic as possible. If you don't like it, "folk" you!**


	3. CH 2: Closeted

**CH 2: Closeted**

"Please, have a seat detective." Maura gestured.

"Thanks for seeing me Dr. Isles."

Maura couldn't help but notice the deep, raspy tone of voice she spoke in. If Maura had to use one word to describe that voice, it would be sultry.

"How may I help you today, detective?"

"I'm with Boston homicide, I would like to ask you a couple of questions about Christopher Mullins."

"Homicide? Chris?" Maura clasped her hand against her mouth in disbelief. "Did something happen to Chris?!"

"I'm sorry to say that Christopher Mullins was found DOA this morning. His next of kin has been notified, and we're treating the case as a suspicious death."

"Oh God!"

"I'm sorry for your loss. Can you tell me more about Mullins?" Jane had her notepad out. "What was his job here at the clinic?"

"He's a registered nurse aide. He helps provide nutritional information, takes blood pressure and temperature, record keeping and documentation, and provides assistance to our registered nurses here. MEND is a non-profit medical organization that provides healthcare to those that are underprivileged and to those that otherwise cannot afford Medicare. I'm the only registered physician here, so we make up for it by hiring more RNs. Chris was the only nurse aide we had on staff."

"Why didn't you report him missing from work when he didn't come in today?"

"Chris took a week off. He gave us advance noticed last week, so when he didn't come in today, it didn't raise any red flags."

"Took a week off, huh." Jane made sure to jot that down. "Did he say why? Or what for?"

"No, I didn't ask. I try not to pry too much into my staffs' personal lives. If they want to share, I'm willing to lend an open ear, but if they don't talk, I won't ask."

Maura watched with a watchful eye underneath her long lashes as the detective started scribbling feverishly on her notepad. Maura observed her every movement, her every posture, her every breath.

"The drug Benzo..."

"...Benzodiazepine." Maura couldn't help herself as she stated the drug's full name.

"Yes, that. Do you have that specific drug on premise? In inventory here at MEND?"

Maura nodded her head. "Yes, we do, but it's in a restricted section of the clinic that only I have access to."

"Do you mind showing me where you keep it?"

"Why do you want to see the drug cage?" Maura asked curiously.

Jane didn't see a reason to beat around the bush. "Christopher Mullins had a large dosage of the drug in his system at the time of his death. I just want to make sure that he didn't get the Benzo from this clinic, from your inventory."

"I do not quite like what you're insinuating there, detective."

"I'm not insinuating anything, Dr. Isles. I just want to clear up a few details. If the Benzo wasn't taken from MEND, I'm going to have to chase that lead down. Process of elimination."

Maura got excited at the sound of that. "I do like the process of elimination. It is by far one of my favorite iterative methods. The iteration is most effectively applied when there is a logical structure that acts as a bases between answers. And thereby elimination would therefore adhere to a logical consequence."

Jane sat there with her lips slightly parted, a look of loss written on her face. She had no clue what the doctor was talking about, and she sure as Hell wasn't going to be jotting any of that down.

Maura, as if sensing the detective's awkwardness, shrugged her shoulders. "Sorry. That was the statistician in me talking. Let's go detective, I'll show you the drug cage if it'll help with the investigation."

"Jane."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm Jane. You don't have to call me detective this, detective that; you can call me Jane."

"Oh." Maura held the door for Jane. "Maura, then."

This time it was Jane's turn to return the favor. "Excuse me?"

"I'm Maura, you can call me Maura. Only my patients call me Dr. Isles. And unless you want to voluntarily admit yourself into my patient list, please call me Maura."

It was nice. Something about this felt nice, it felt right. Jane had to admit this was an oddity. There was a sense of familiarity, but between strangers; a sense of comfortableness, but with professionalism. To Jane, it was an oddity indeed. Jane followed as Maura led the way. MEND wasn't particularly big nor spacious. A small clinic located in the heart of Southie, the lack of space didn't take away the significant role the clinic played in the community of South Boston. Jane had passed MEND a handful of times before, and had heard about it through her Ma, but this was her first time setting foot in the place. For a doctor as stunning and as accomplished as Dr. Maura Isles is, many would prefer to start their own practice, instead of working for a non-profit at minimum wage, no over time, long hours, not to mention the ungrateful patients you sometimes get. Jane respected Maura immensely for the amount of good she was doing and the time and energy she's dedicated to giving back to the community, something she couldn't say about herself.

The drug cage was at the very back of the room in a segregated area. The drug cage was literally a cage composed of a chainlink fence. Maura took out her set of keys and unlocked the gate. "Detective...Jane, this is the drug cage, feel free to look around."

"Can you show me where the Benzo is kept?"

"Right here," Maura pointed at the bottles on the third shelf. "All three bottles, it's all there."

"Huh." Was Jane's response.

"Something the matter, Jane?" Maura asked.

Jane snapped out of her thought at the sound of her name rolling off of Maura's tongue. "No, I was just thinking. If Mullins' didn't get the Benzo here, where else would he be able to get his hands on the drug. It's abuse recreationally, yes, but it's not prevalent."

"I see what you mean. I'm not quite sure where I would even begin to look either."

"Thank Dr. Isles, I mean, Maura." Jane was still getting use to using the doctor's first name.

The drug cage was small and cramped. With the shelf, and some janitorial supplies on the side, you could only get in and out via single file. Jane was walking blindly and in deep thought when she almost slipped on a piece of cable wire. Jane tried catching herself with her hands but there was nothing for her to grasp on to, and she would have fallen on her ass if not for Maura's strong arms and body as sturdy support.

"Careful, Jane."

"Woah. Nice catch doc."

"I didn't have a choice, you were of such close proximity to me, if I hadn't caught you, I would have been thrown back by the force of your fall; the domino effect."

"Hey Maura?"

"Yeah?" Maura replied causally as she locked the gate of the drug cage once more.

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You, talking Google."

"I'm not quite following you." For the first time in quite a while, Maura was at a loss.

"Never mind." Jane chuckled. "Thank you Maura for being so helpful. If I have any more questions, I'll know where to find you. But if you think of anything, even if you feel like it's something insignificant or an obsolete detail, don't hesitate to ring me." Jane handed Maura her business card.

"I will. I want you to catch those responsible for Chris' murder."

"Suspicious death. Our M.E hasn't ruled it a homicide yet."

"Right. Let me show you out." Maura showed Jane to the front door. The clinic was closed and its door locked. The front door was locked on the outside, but not on the inside. "It was nice meeting you detective Jane Rizzoli."

"You be careful, Dr. Maura Isles. Southie isn't exactly safe after dark."

"It's okay. I grew up in South Boston. I know how to take care of myself."

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to ring me. I really admire the work you're doing for the community."

"Thank you."

- o -

"Good evening, and thank you for joining us today. Today's breaking news, Boston's very own Drug Control Unit received a creditable tip off that led to the largest cocaine seizure in Boston history by the city police. Two men face charges into a high-level, international trafficking operation, netting 6000 pounds of cocaine with a street value worth $600 million. DCU has also seized $200,000 in cash...-"

"Fuck!"

Lou Giovanni had heard enough. He whipped the controller from across the table at the flat screen mounted on the wall. The controller thrown at close range at such a high velocity caused the screen to crack right dead center. Dario was more hot headed than his brother. He walked up to the T.V and tore the flat screen from its wall mount and smashed it as hard as he could to the floor.

"Carlos! That motherfucker sold us out!"

"Carlo's the middle man, he may have sold us out but what good does that do him? We both know who's the mastermind behind this mess."

Dario began pacing back and forth, he was steaming, his nostrils flared. "Fucking Irish pigs! This isn't over! This is not over yet!"

Lou remained seated. He too was angry, but he was the more leveled headed one between the two. "We can deal with the Irish later; Paddy Doyle is all talk and no bark. And that spawn of his is no cause for immediate concern. What I'm worried about now is the Colombians. Where the fuck are we going to get $600 million from?! We don't have that kind of money!"

"Shit." Dario froze. That hadn't even crossed his mind. The Colombians were notorious for their ruthlessness. They would not hesitate massacring your entire family, or the entire village for that matter, if it meant getting their way. "That's exactly what the Irish wants! They want to use the Colombians against us, to drive us out of town! Those sneaky Irish fucks!"

That was exactly what he was thinking too. Lou sighed. This was bad. They had deposited 20% in cash as down payment for the shipment. If word got out on the streets that it was their fault, that the fault was on them that ultimately led to the bust, there was no doubt in Lou's mind the Colombians were going to rip their balls off, mince it into little bite size pieces, and force feed it down their throats. Then there was the Russian buyer: Michael Vikram. They had taken a 30% deposit from him for his order, a total of $200,000; the amount that was seized in cash at the scene by the city police. If the Colombians didn't finish them off, this Vikram mobster would. The Colombians, the Russian, they were stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"What should we do now, Lou?!"

"Doyle's clan tipped the police off, they've probably put the word out onto the streets by now, that the bust was our fault, that we have a mole in our group. Get the Colombians panicking, and thinking irrationally. It's pretty ingenious."

Checkmate.

"Let me handle this Dario, don't do anything retarded. That's what Doyle's people want from us, for us to lose our heads and do something brash."

"Oh I'm calm, brother." Dario's voice was thin. "I'm thinking very clearly. If Doyle's clan wants to mess with us, then we'll fight fire with fire. He's already fucked us over, what have we to lose?!"

"What do you have in mind."

Dario didn't answer Lou. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number he had on his contact list.

"Yeah?"

"Pablo, you and your boys want to make some fast cash."

"Always. Whatcha have in mind?"

"I want you to help me fight fire with fire, and hit Paddy Doyle where it hurts."

"Aw shit man, how much you paying first?"

"Every building you torch, I'll give you $1000 cash. I want all of Southie up in flames!"

"Aw shit man! I ain't never turn down free money."

- o -

Finn tilted his back from the immense amount of pleasure he was in. This wasn't her first rodeo, the woman was as experienced with her hands as she was with her mouth. Finn loved it when she used a bit of her teeth to gently graze the shaft of his penis, but only lightly. Too much teeth and it'll ruin the blow job. Finn didn't know her name, nor did he care to ask. Names weren't necessary for this transaction, it didn't serve to further any purpose. He wasn't looking for a relationship, and she was going to get paid when the deed was done; a win-win for both parties. The blonde made this slurping sound every time she sucked; it was almost a turn off for Finn, but she was doing such a darn good job, he didn't have the heart to tell her.

From the counter, the sound of his cell phone buzzing to life had caught his attention. Finn yanked the woman off his dick, then leaned over to reach for his phone. Finn screened the call before picking up.

"How may I help you today, Dr. Isles?"

"Have you seen the evening news?"

"I don't need to see it to know what's happening. I was there."

"Have you put the word out yet?"

"I got Ronnie and Tomlin running around town, blabbing that big mouths of theirs. Give it time. You played broken telephone before, you know how fun much that can be. By this time tomorrow, the Giovannis' will have no place to run, and nowhere to hide."

"Good." Maura let out a sigh of relief. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Not yet, but I'm about to." Was Finn's cunning reply.

"Alright. Enjoy. I'll see you soon."

"Oh I'll enjoy it for sure. Bye, Maura."

Finn clicked the end button.

"You know I'm charging by the hour right?" The blonde asked.

Finn switched places and threw the woman down on the couch. "I got all night baby."

Finn took his blood engorged penis and traced it outside of the woman's opening. He tapped his penis against her clit repeatedly, teasing her, playing with her, toying with her. Then in one fluid motion, Finn penetrated her with all his manhood. The warm sensation of flesh against his sensitive skin; it was a feeling like none other.

This was going to be a fun night after all.

- o -

Some people dedicate their lives to philanthropy, some to power, money, wealth, their family and friends; Jane dedicated her life to her job. Having dropped by MEND, and getting a statement from Dr. Maura Isles, Jane stopped by her house, jumped in for a quick and a power nap, and was off again. She didn't like sleeping when she was working a case; especially not when there were three bodies down in the morgue, and no suspect or closure in sight. It was already well pass dinner time when Jane got back to BPD. The moment she walked into BPD, she knew something big must have gone down. It was the exact opposite of this afternoon. When she had left Homicide and BPD, there were a scarce number of detectives and officers that remained in the building, the Commissioner and DCU borrowing every available man for an all hands on deck. But now? The entire department was buzzing with life, overrun with people, reporters, officers, detectives, FBI, CSRU, and a lot of other people Jane didn't remotely recognize. Jane didn't even bother taking the elevator, instead opting to use the stairs. It was that crowded.

Homicide wasn't any better. Every available seat was taken, people running in and out of BRIC, it was like a war zone in Homicide. Jane stood by the coffee maker with a lost look upon her face. She couldn't even use her desk, or her computer; it was currently being occupied by a uniform taking what looks like a statement.

"Jane, what are you doing in?" Korsak came up from behind.

"What the Hell happened Korsak? What's with the mob of people? Did the floodgates open?"

"Didn't you hear?"

"Hear what?"

"Jane, DCU just busted the single, biggest shipment of cocaine trafficking in Boston history."

"Cavanaugh did mention that, yeah, but he also said the tip might be a false alarm."

Kosak shrugged his shoulders. "Well, turns out it's credible. Two metric tonnes, Jane. That's enough coke to feed all the coke addicts in all of Boston for at least three months."

"Jesus."

"Go home Jane, you're off the clock. BPD's going to be swamped for the next twenty four hours at least. Go home and get some rest."

"Yeah." Jane wanted to talk with DCU about the origins of the drug Benzo. If Christopher Mullins didn't get the Benzo from MEND, it must have come from somewhere. The question is where. "You guys sure you don't need any help?"

"You weren't there for the bust, there's no point, go home. And the next time I call you, pick up."

"My phone hasn't rang all night." Jane reached into her pockets. And then the pockets in her blazer. Nothing. She didn't have her cell phone with her. Come to think of it, when she threw her pair of dress pants into the laundry hamper, she had checked to make sure her pockets were empty; it wasn't there either.

"You lost your phone?" Korsak asked. "No point in calling it, nobody picked up."

Jane closed her eyes and retraced her steps. She had it with her this afternoon when she left BDP, then she went to MEND, then home for that shower and nap. She was wearing the same blazer, but it wasn't there either.

That's when it struck her. "The drug cage!"

"Beg pardon?"

She must have dropped it when she slipped. It must have fallen out the shallow pocket in her blazer. It wasn't the cell phone itself that Jane was fretting about, that could easily be replaced, it was the contact information she had stored on the phone's memory. It held all her confidential informants' contact information and their official CI number assigned by BPD. If that information was ever leaked or fell into the wrong hands, it would not only jeopardize the integrity of their investigations, but also the lives of her informants. Jane was not about to let that happen. This was serious.

"I have to go!"

"Jane, take it easy, okay. You're off the clock. So clock out, and we'll pick up where we left off tomorrow morning, 8am sharp."

"Yeah." Jane crossed the room and pulled her bottom drawer open. She placed her department issued Glock 17C inside the drawer, and proceeded to lock it. Jane tugged on the drawer just to make sure it was indeed locked properly. It was fast approaching 10pm already. Jane couldn't wait till morning to get her cell phone back. What she was counting on were security having keys to the front doors. There was nothing more important to Jane than the lives of her CIs, something she had to learn the hard way.

- o -

Maura's white lab coat was on the hanger; the moment the clock strikes five, she would be in her regular clothes, a habitat she picked up during her junior year in rotation. The sound of keyboard clicking filled the small room, Maura's absolute concentration drawn to her screen. Her fingers moved fluidly, like it had a mind of its own as she typed away. Maura didn't do much over-time work, not unless there was an emergency, or it was an absolute necessity. The reason for her over-time tonight is the latter of the two. She had to finish this grant proposal in time for submission for the Peabody's Medical Advancement grant. MEND is a non-profit medical organization that needed a lot more funding and cash flow than it's getting right now from charitable donations. If her grant proposal is accepted, and the Peabody foundation pays out, not only will it guarantee the survival of MEND for the coming fiscal year, it'll allow the organization to hire more physicians, purchase more medical equipment, and pay for upkeep and maintenance of the machineries. Maura could not let this chance slip through the grasp of her fingers. She typed away on her keyboard feverishly, reading every sentence out load as she typed for grammatical errors.

Maura had been completely submerged in her work when she was rudely interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a fist pounding against steel. Maura looked up from her laptop and listened intently with open ears. Nothing. Maura waited a little while longer...and there it was again. It sounded like it was coming from the front. Maura wasn't the least bit concern for her own safety, she could take care of herself, better than one would expect; she was more curious than anything else as to who, or what was making that God awful sound. During the daytime, MEND was accessible through its front doors, but come nighttime, after 5pm, a storefront steel gate would be lowered, protecting the premise. It was an added security feature, one that was a necessity. South Boston wasn't the safest place after dark, that and the fact that MEND held an array of heavy opiate based narcotics, the storefront gate added that extra safeguard to the place.

The banging stopped by the time Maura got to the doors. Whoever was banging had most likely left. Just as Maura was about to turn around and head back to work, a familiar voice caught her ears.

"Oh common! Can't afford to hire extra staff, but can afford a steel fortress?!" Said the familiar sultry voice.

"Jane?"

A moment of silence.

"Maura?"

"Hold on." Maura quickly ran back to her office and retrieved her keys. She unlocked the storefront gate and pulled it high enough for Jane to squeeze in.

"What are you doing here so late?" Maura asked curiously.

"I was about to ask you the same question. And why don't you have security guards?"

"We can't afford to hire a security guard, that's why we opted to install a storefront gate. And for your information, hiring a professional and medically trained staffer requires anywhere between $25,000 to $45,000 a year. The storefront gate plus the cost of installation was only an affordable $2500, with a limited ten year manufacturing warranty."

Jane chuckled. "So you heard me, huh?"

"The entire block heard you, Jane."

"I like you better like this. You're funnier when you're not Dr. Isles."

"A person's occupation has no relevance to a person's level of humor or comedic sense." Maura stated matter of factly. "You didn't answer me, why are you here so late?"

"The drug cage!" Jane almost forgot. "I think I dropped my cell phone in the drug cage when I almost fell today."

"You came back in the middle of the night for your cell phone?" Maura asked, leading the way as Jane followed close behind.

"I'm not worried about my phone per se. My phone has a lot of sensitive information and privileged contact information; I won't be able to sleep tonight without knowing it's safe."

"You're a good detective, detective Rizzoli."

The lights in all the rooms were off except for a few dimly lit fluorescent lights in the hallway. When Maura unlocked the drug cage, Jane didn't have to look high and low to find her cell phone lying on the cold floor, next to a floor pan.

"Found it. Battery's dead though."

"You're just lucky that I happened...-"

Maura was cut off in midsentence when Jane held a finger to her lips; Maura took the hint and stopped dead in her tracks.

"Listen." Jane whispered.

Maura didn't hear anything. She waited for a moment, and that's when she heard it too. There were light footsteps, and the sound of faint whispers.

"Did you lock the storefront gate?"

Maura shook her head. "I forgot to re-lock it when I let you in."

Jane instinctively reached for her Glock on her waistband, but was met with emptiness. It had completely slipped her mind; she had locked her Glock in her drawer when she clocked out of BPD.

"How many voices do you hear?" Jane asked.

"At least two or more, I can't be sure."

"I hear at least three."

This wasn't good. If she was alone, she could make a run for it, but with Maura in tow, that wasn't possible. They were at the very back of the office, with no accessible emergency exits where they were. The only emergency fire exit was in the break room, a couple of doors down. Jane couldn't risk it. The footsteps and the whispers sounded not too far off.

"There's only one reason why anybody would want to break into a medical clinic." Jane reasoned.

"For the narcotics." Maura was fast to catch on.

"Give them what they want, and we'll be fine." Jane took Maura's hand in hers. "Leave the drug cage open. They'll grab whatever they need, and they'll leave."

"There's a broom closet to the right. It's small but it'll do, they won't notice it with the dim lighting."

Maura opened the door to the small closet. Jane entered first, followed by Maura. To say the closet was cramped would be an understatement. With barely three inches of space between their bodies, Jane could hear Maura's heavy breathing.

"If anything happens, I'll hold them back, and you make a run for it." Jane whispered.

"Let's wait and see. If there's only three of them, it's us against them; I like those odds."

"No." Jane snapped. "We don't know if they're armed, or if they're high off their bonkers on bath salts or PCP. It's much too dangerous."

"That's only..."

Jane clasped her hand tight against Maura's mouth. The footsteps and the whispers were no longer from afar, they were right outside their door.

"Aw shit man! Told you this was gonna be easy! We're gonna torch the place anyway, why not help ourselves to the candy store."

"Man, I wanna get out of here. This place is fucking creepy."

"Dude, come on, get whatever the fuck you want and go."

"Hand me the bag."

It was followed by more ruckus, and more cussing. Jane held up three fingers, indicating to Maura there were at least three guys outside.

"Alright, let's go. Grab those chains."

"Go in there, and lock that door."

A pair of footsteps could be heard sprinting down the hallway.

"Pour faster. Get it on the walls too, and the chairs. Oh! And on that ugly ass painting in the corner, burn that shit to Hell."

"It's empty."

"Aw shit man, fine, whatever, let's get the fuck outta here."

Maura brought her lips to Jane's ear, her hot breath breathing onto Jane's ear as she spoke.

"Jane, do you smell that?"

"Yeah, I do." Jane grabbed Maura's hand in her own. She recognized that smell from anywhere. "It's gasoline."

- o -

**A/N: Alright guys, my creative juices are overflowing. I'm going to overdose on writing soon. I already have the gist of what this story is about, now all that needs to be done is to color in the details. Or I could just end the story with three chapters, with Jane and Maura burning to death. That would be both tragic and romantic, right?**


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